


Infinite Combinations

by The_Silent_Writer



Category: American Horror Story: Asylum, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series (loosely)
Genre: AU, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, All of them if possible, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Another Place and Time AU, Dreams, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is the same save Spock (Oliver), F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Future shoddy astronomy and psychics, Gen, Hurt Jim, Hurt Oliver, IDIC, M/M, Mental Instability, Oliver Thredson can be thought of as Spock, Oliver is not a crazy bastard like he is in AHS, Realistic dreams, Shoddy psychiatry and psychology, TW: Panic Attacks (not very detailed though), The Pronoun Game, There's a reason I'm majoring in Geology, possible angst, so many references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Silent_Writer/pseuds/The_Silent_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has been having some very interesting dreams. Ones where he's the Captain of the starship USS Enterprise. A few enthusiastic conversations later serves Jim weekly visits to the IDI Clinic. And what are the odds that his psychiatrist, Dr. Oliver Thredson, looks exactly like the First Officer of his dreams?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Latva

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT PRETTY PLEASE READ (OR AT LEAST SKIM!!)  
> This work has been nearly a year in the making and has only just started to come to fruition. The idea was sparked after watching this AMV: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2Qc_JHU6Ug (watch and be awed like I was!) and back then it was just some little idea floating around in the mess I call my mind. During the summer it actually started taking shape and for months all I've been doing is planning out details for these lovely babies. And look now! I finally made the first chapter!  
> Now, let me clear: this is not a crossover! Oliver Thredson was just really REALLY convenient since he's played by the same actor, is a psychiatrist, and has a name that is nooooot Vulcan! I'm just using him for his name, but he is essentially Spock! There will probably be a lot more questions, and feel free to ask away!  
> Okay, I'm done for now! Please enjoy! <3

Their first meeting had not been ideal.

 

Doctor Oliver Thredson had expected his newest client to be lively. The results of the Jung’s Personality test they had administered before beginning appointments told him as much. ENFP, it had said. A strong extrovert at 89% with introverted feelings. He had yet to have a client with that personality type, but he knew them well. The type is typical with outgoing personalities; actors, comedians, etc. In an educational setting you’d see the type in Music majors or on sports teams. They were typical, yet so eccentric. ENFPs had a tactical way of interacting with people. They were great liars. They could be alone in a room and be emotionally unstable, but the moment someone walks into the room they light up brighter than the sun. This is what he expected from his new client. He figured a majority of their appointments would run as follows: they would greet, exchange pleasantries before Oliver began asking his questions. The client would answer candidly with the more impersonal quandaries, but when something hit a nerve (something Oliver was fairly certain his client did not know existed) there were two likely outcomes. Either the client would shut down emotionally, refuse to talk about anything that wasn’t what they wanted to talk about or the patient would find a way (a clever way, if the results meant anything) to push the topic back into comfortable territory without so much as blinking an eye. The good doctor knew this kind of client well, he had no worries in terms of being able to handle an ENFP.

Doctor Oliver would soon realize he had never met anyone quite like James Tiberius Kirk.

 

He had long grown accustomed to the ‘tick-tick-tick’ from the small clock atop his desk. There were times when he would catch himself muttering the number of ‘ticks’, the seconds, while in the midst of his paperwork or when waiting for his next client.

Today was no different. He had gotten to ‘42’ before the sweet woman, Chapel, that worked at the front desk phoned to inform him that his new client would arrive at his office “right after he finishes up his paperwork”.

Oliver pulled his client’s file from a drawer in his desk while he waited.

 _James Tiberius Kirk_ , it read. ‘Jim’, under the ‘preferred name’ category. No picture was available to put a face to the name (Oliver had asked quite a few times why there wasn’t one. Protocol typically mandated having a photo of the client in their file) but he figured it was only a matter of minutes before the matter was resolved.

_DOB: 3/22/1989_

_Age: 25_

_Referral Source: Doctor Jay M’Benga of the Children’s Clinic in Riverside, Iowa_

_Original request made by: Winona Kirk (mother)_

_Reason(s) for Referral/Request: Not given_

That certain blank in Mr. Kirk’s Preliminary Diagnostics Form was another thing that sent a small red flag waving in Oliver’s mind. It was highly unheard of to be assigned a psychiatrist (or even a psychologist, for that matter) without even the most inane reason for it being so. This topic would be one of the first in their discussion for today.

Miss Chapel’s voice ringing through the intercom brought Oliver out of his thoughts.

“Sir, the Captain is making his way back to you.”

 _Captain_? Had he heard that correctly?

“…Thank you, Miss Chapel,” he replied. A soft ‘click’ let him know the intercom feature of the phone had been disconnected.

Oliver took a deep breath. He had learned that the reprieve a very quick mediation could provide was a good way to purge one’s emotions before receiving a client.

Loud ‘knock-knocking’ jolted him (far more than he expected) out of his introspective state. He took one last deep breath, then nodded to himself. “You may come in,” he called in an even voice.

 _You are calm, collected, and you will not hesitate to shake this man’s hand, Oliver_ , he nearly chanted in his mind, _James Tiberius Kirk means you no harm_.

As the wooden door squeaked open, Oliver rose from his chair to greet his new client. He put on his best business smile when a shock of short and styled dirty-blonde hair came into view.

“Mr. Kirk, it’s a pleasure to—”

A screech of “OH MY GOD!!” hardly had time to finish echoing off the plastered walls before the bounding of footfall took its place. All too soon, Oliver’s new client was at the foot of his desk, leaning forward and intruding on his personal space.

It was because of this rush of unexpected actions that caused a flustered Oliver to jump back so far his shoulders collided with the wall behind him. The wind was knocked out of him for a moment and he tried his hardest to maintain a level of calm that could allow him to get through this incident.

The man in front of him had a litany of emotions coursing across his features. Oliver could see the slight tense in Mr. Kirk’s broad shoulders, possibly from some form of anxiety or hesitation. His thick, brown eyebrows were hiked up in a way that denoted hope or anticipation. The large, toothy smile showed equal amounts of excitement and disbelief. But those striking blue eyes held the only static emotion, one that made Oliver rear towards uncomfortable to know it was being aimed towards him.

Wonder. Pure, unadulterated wonder.

The two men stood in a silence that filled with the soft ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the small desk clock. Mr. Kirk’s expression refusing to falter while Oliver schooled his own into staving off the panic curling in his gut. During Oliver’s strive to reorganize his thoughts and remember that he had a job that needed to be done, Mr. Kirk chose to fill the void.

“I can’t believe you’re real! I mean, of course  _you’re_ real, Oliver, but… Wow. You look exactly like him.” Mr. Kirk said with an awe Oliver did not think he deserved to have directed towards him as the young man continued leaning forward. The upper-half of his body had almost completely covering Oliver’s desk, and there was a fleeting part (the unprofessional part) of Oliver that wanted to take a yard stick and push his client off of his desk, out his office door, down the narrow hallway, through reception and out onto the streets of Des Moines.

But then Oliver remembered why both Mr. Kirk and he are there.

“Mr. Kirk. If you would, please, sit down so we can begin your session.” He mentally scolded himself. His voice was too strained. It wasn’t the typical calm and smooth tone he used when speaking with clients.

Mr. Kirk seemed to notice this, because he immediately picked himself up from Oliver’s desk and stalked over to the sitting area with a dejected, “yeah… yeah, I’m sorry,” on his way.

With an inward sigh, the psychiatrist followed behind shortly after, his clipboard clutched closely to his side and, at present, his panic held at bay in the back of his mind.

 

“So, Mr. Ki—”

“Call me Jim, Oliver.”

 _Doctor Thredson_ quirked an eyebrow at the lack of title, but decided that something as minor as that could be put aside for now. “Mr. Kirk, there is protocol here at the Clinic that states I am to act professionally with my clients and thus—”

“ _Clients_ ,” Mr. Kirk parroted, “that sounds like we’re business partners or something.”

“Well, Mr. Kirk, we are, in a sense, business partners, are we not? These weekly meetings are meant to help us coincide with each other and figure out ways to benefit us both.”

“Even if nothing is wrong with me?” Kirk mused, clearly unimpressed with Oliver’s explanation of how their sessions were meant to be symbiotic. Oliver straightened his posture in the soft, but firm, leather chair he had made his perch for the next hour and a half. His left hand prepared to start taking notes. “Do  _you_ think there’s something wrong with you, Mr. Kirk?”

Kirk’s neck nearly snapped at the rate he turned to look at Oliver. “What? No! This is all some stupid plot created by Frank to try and lock me up!”

Oliver began scribbling down bits of information and questions he would like to ask his client. He noted the disgruntled aura and sitting position Mr. Kirk was in before continuing. “Could you please explain what you mean?”

His client rolled his eyes, as if recalling events in his head before he put them to spoken words. “Okay, so let me just get all of this out of the way before this gets started. One, I reeeeaaally don’t want to be here. I don’t even need to be here. _I’m_ fine. Honestly, I feel bad for you, Oliver. I couldn’t sit there and listen to people complain for hour upon  _boring_ hour every single day.

Two, this is just Frank’s way of getting back at me for treating him how he deserves to be treated. In a nutshell, not good. So, I mean, if you could just write me a clean bill ‘o health, that’d be mighty fine of you.

And three, if you can’t that’s fine too, but what’s the situation here? How do I get out of here ASAP? I have a lot I need to be doing and having to go out of my way by an hour and forty-five minutes—on a good day—to be here every week is not something that I need in my life right now. No offense or anything, Oliver. You’re nice to look at and you seem like a cool guy and all, but I just don’t need this crap.”

Dr. Thredson took a moment longer, both to jot down a few more notes to himself and to keep his thoughts in order from his client’s last comment, before he looked up at Mr. Kirk with a tight expression that could have been interpreted as the calm before a storm. It wasn’t too surprising. His job and his other clients had just been insulted, in layman’s terms he had been called ‘useless’, all to be topped with a poor attempt at flirting… Oliver was doing very well in keeping his expression in check.

“…Mr. Kirk—”

“Jim.”

“ _Mister Kirk_ ,” Oliver said again, this time his tone was a bit harsher. Like that of a parent warning their child. “Let us please put a few things in order before we continue this session. Firstly, I will not tolerate having both my profession and my other clients insulted by a man who clearly does not understand how neither psychiatry nor psychology are handled in a professional setting.

Lastly, while I do apologize if these sessions are of inconvenience to you, there is nothing I can do at the moment. The contract in your file states that you are required to attend weekly sessions here at the IDIC for a period of three months, minimum. If by then your file contains either enough evidence that you are truly prepared to continue with your everyday life without these weekly visits or if you get another person of legal age to sign off on the agreement, you can then terminate your affiliation with the IDIC.”

Oliver took in the sight of Kirk sitting on the plush, grey love seat only 5.8 feet away from him. His legs were crossed and he was leaning forward just a bit, enough that his head was hanging to hide flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. Oliver puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders just a smidge more, taking this body language as a sign of a small victory.

“I  _am_ sorry, Mr. Kirk, but you will be coming here every Thursday for the next three months and meeting with either me or another do—”

Mr. Kirk’s head shot up at the comment. “Woah, woah, wait!” His right hand thrust out towards Oliver in a ‘stop’ motion. “You mean it won’t be just you? I’ll have to talk with other shrinks here?” The look in his eyes was nearly one part uncertainty, another part panic.

“Negative. You will not have to meet with another doctor if you do not wish it. I apologize in assuming that you would want someone else.”

His response was more on the incredulous side. “Why would you think that?”

The doctor allowed himself the satisfaction of a small sigh. Out of exasperation or humility, he wasn’t sure. “I had thought with how this first meeting has unraveled so far, you would not want to continue sessions with me, Mr. Kirk. I have been untoward, I admit, and I apologize for that.”

Kirk let out a mirth-filled laugh. “You were worried about what just happened?”

“’Worried’ would not be the proper vocabulary in this case, I believe.”

“Either way,” Mr. Kirk continued, waving a hand around as if to dismiss Dr. Thredson’s comment, “it takes a hell of a lot more than that to get rid of me, Oliver.”

Oliver did not miss the toothy smirk and nearly invisible wink that his client practically threw his way. The moment his mind registered what had just happened, he immediately filed away the behavior for later inspection. He made a note on his clipboard that went in the top left corner labeled: ENFP/behavioral traits.

“I shall endeavor to try harder, Mr. Kirk,” he replied, making sure to lace his words with as much challenge as he could without sounding just as flirtatious as his client. He seemed to understand that this was one of the ways he would have to act around Mr. Kirk if he wanted the man to begin conversing. “Now, let us officially—” his client groaned as he slumped down into the soft cushions “begin our session, shall we?”

“Do we really have to, Oliver? This should be like grade school, right? Where the first day is awesome ‘cause all you do is bullshit your way through and pretend to be doing things when in actuality you’re just there to fuck around and talk with people.”

Doctor Thredson gave a smile that held no actual emotion. “I believe that is what we are doing, Mr. Kirk.”

“It’s Jiiiim.”

“We have been talking this entire session. Now, however, I would like to pick the topic.”

Kirk let out another groan then relented with a, “fine! Ask away,  _doctor_.”

He nodded his thanks to Mr. Kirk and then began asking questions. “We can start small, if you’re amenable. Why do you think you’re here?”

“Because Frank is an asshat that thinks he can still run my life through Ma.”

“And Frank is…”

“Frank’s my stepdad. Ma is… Ma.”

“Is that how you typically address or introduce your mother?”

There was the briefest of hesitations before, “No.”

“What do you usually call her?”

“Winona.”

“What were the circumstances that le—”

“This feels a hell of a lot like 20 Questions,” Kirk stated.

Oliver took this small interlude to write down Mr. Kirk’s current body language. Stiff posture, hands fidgeting in lap, occasional scratching at the space on his abdomen where the xiphisternal joint is located.

 _Nervous ticks definitely a sign of discomfort, could possibly be habitual from a type of past trauma. May be wise to see if same quirks appear while focusing on another topic_.

“This is necessary if you would like to progress, Mr. Kirk. I believe ‘ASAP’ was your own turn of phrase.”

Mr. Kirk let out a long breath through his nose before looking at Dr. Thredson with uncertainty. “…Okay… Okay, let’s do this then. What was the question?”

“If you can recall, what were the circumstances that led to Frank pushing for your admittance into these sessions?”

A very undignified noise made its way from Kirk’s mouth. “Well, hell, that’s an easy one! I was talking with Bones at the house in Riverside and that big-eared asswipe overheard.”

“What were you talking about with…” Oliver took a very brief moment to worry about the lack of gender specificity before deciding to mimic Mr. Kirk, “Bones?”

“You’re gonna think it’s weird,” his client mumbled, his eyes downcast.

Dr. Thredson made note of the apprehension and what appeared to be latent excitement that appeared in Kirk’s body.

“I assure you, I will not.”

Seemingly mollified by Oliver’s bland yet sincere guarantee, Jim nodded and began (a bit quietly), “I was having some…  _really_ vivid dreams.”

A small bit of concern shown on Oliver’s face. Truth be told, he had been having some rather interesting dreams himself lately. Knowing that someone else was going through (or had gone) through what he was now reassured his spirit. “And these dreams, would you mind describing to me what you mean by ‘vivid’?” Mr. Kirk looked up at him with wide eyes which made him immediately add, “if you are in any way uncomfortable about talking about what you were dreaming of, please don’t feel pressured to—”

“Nah, no! It’s not the bad kind of vivid. Not the crazy, there’s-blood-dripping-from-the-walls type of vivid. More like… it-was-like-I-was-there type of vivid.”

“Could you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your hipster glasses on, Oliver. I’ll tell you about them. Mostly ‘cause I want someone other than Bones to talk about them with!”

There was that name again.  _Bones_ , the doctor thought, jotting the name down in his notes, _I’ll have to get him to elaborate on who that moniker is for._

“God, they’re just so… so  _cool_! Surreal, you know? Living out there… up in the stars… who could ask for more?”

“You dreamt about living amongst the stars?”

“Yes! But not just living with them! Traveling through them! I’ve gone on journeys, missions. I’ve lived different lives, met so many different people, species… I’ve seen the universe…” Mr. Kirk trailed off, his thoughts becoming wrapped around whatever it was that captivated him so profoundly.

Oliver stared at him with what the untrained eye would perceive as impassivity, but in reality was shock. He felt his own eyes widen ever so slightly, his heart rate quicken just enough.  _Odd_ , he mused,  _that description sounds a lot like—no_. He chided himself for even trying to go down that road. He had been working at the IDIC for over 5 years now. Doctor Thredson was not some wet-behind-the-ears young man right out of university. He did not let coincidences he might share with his clients question his perception of the world.

“How long were you having those kinds of dreams?”

“Oh I still have them. Pretty regularly, actually,” Mr. Kirk replied as if it were commonplace.

The doctor nodded, writing down the word and punctuation, ‘ _background?_ ’ without his gaze ever leaving Kirk’s form. “And how much of these dreams do you typically remember?”

With that, the sharp blue of ~~Jim’s~~ Kirk’s eyes seemed to dull a bit. “Everything,” he said after a brief pause. His voice sounding a bit shaky. “I remember every dream as if it were yesterday.”

“You sound as if that’s unfortunate, Mr. Kirk.”

“Yeah, well, if you had a crew of over 500 whose lives depended on your every order… you’d start to wonder what the point was too…”

“Are these dreams causing you to feel some sort of doubt in your life?”

The client stayed silent for a few moments and Oliver did not push him to talk. If anything it gave the psychiatrist ample time to sort out his notes and quandaries without having to dwell on his own personal dilemmas.

“I… don’t think ‘doubt’ is the right word.”

“What word would you choose?”

“…responsibility, I think.” Kirk looked at the back of his hands, his arms which were littered in various colours of marker. “They’ve made me conscious of the decisions I make… and how they don’t just affect me.” The reverent look he had turned to one of bashfulness when he looked back to the doctor. “…maybe,” he tacked on.

Oliver gave Kirk a small smile, one that was typically reserved for those who truly needed it.

“That, Mr. Kirk,” he started, the smile on his face becoming even more genuine, “is how you make progress during a session.”

 

Doctor Thredson allowed for the remainder of their time (46.2 minutes) to be left to trivial topics. Many a time he would have to steer the conversation back onto a track that had some sort of relevancy to their session, but for the most part he just let Jim talk about whatever he wanted. It wouldn’t do to burn out Jim’s tolerance in their first meeting, and knowing that Kirk was opening up to Oliver of his own accord would be beneficial for them both as they progressed.

He learned quite a few things about Jim in their last three-quarters of an hour together. Jim was in graduate school. In his third year at the University of Iowa for their PhD program for both the Astronomy and Physics tracks. ( _possibly the reason for the astronomical-themed dreams, could be Jim’s brain’s way of saying something about graduate school is too stressful_.) And thus, learned that the reason why it took nearly two hours to attend the appointment was because of said graduate program being in Iowa City while the IDIC was located in the heart of Des Moines. Although he (near blatantly) refused to talk about his mother or stepfather, he had only great things to say about his father, George Kirk, who had been part of the NASA program. ( _most probable catalyst for Jim’s choice in career path_.)

The small ‘ding!’ of Oliver’s timer (completely forgotten to the psychiatrist) had both men nearly jumping out of their skins.

“Well, Mr. Kirk, this concludes your first session. Do you have any questions?”

Jim made a sound in the back of his throat that could have easily been mistaken for a purr. “Mmmm, nope! I can’t think of anything—well wait! I’ll see you again next week, right? I won’t come back and be paired up with another doctor?”

Oliver gave a soft shake of the head. “No, Mr. Kirk, if you will have me I will remain your psychiatrist.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Oliver! I mean—” Jim’s face flushed pink, as if he just realized what it was he blurted out. “As long as you start calling me ‘Jim’, alright?”

Oliver’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his own version of laughter without actually committing the act. “I will see you next week, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim did the laughing for the both of them. “Yeah, see you, Oliver.” And with another quick wave goodbye, the young man left the doctor’s office.

Right after Doctor Thredson scrawled a message to himself at the bottom of his notes for Jim, he took his cell phone and immediately dialed a number he clearly knew from memory. Waiting for the receiver to pick up, he gathered his belongings and made for his office door.

A muffled ‘Hello?’ greeted him through the ear piece.

“Hello, Nyota, do you have any plans tonight? Yes, I think tea and a movie would be great. I have a lot I want to talk about…” was the last thing that could be heard before he shut his door and made his way to out of the IDIC as fast as his legs would carry him.

The message he left himself read:  _Stop referring to him as ‘Jim’ in your head, **now**!_

 

* * *

 

 

Their first meeting was almost a complete crash and burn.

 

Jim Tiberius Kirk took no shit from anyone… Unless it was from his mom.

It was his stepdad, Frank, serving a steaming pile via his mother that got him into this particular mess. Even if she was away on business, and even though he no longer lived at home, she could still manage to throw him to the wolves just as easily as she could walk on a plane. All it took was a few passionate, perhaps overzealous, conversations with his best friend, Bones, to be overheard and the bastard had him pegged as a loon. He knew Winona well enough by now to know that her signing him up for weekly visits to a shrink wasn’t something she would bother herself with unless she had had some prodding.

So it was with a world-weary groan that he stepped into the IDI Clinic. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what the first three letters stood for, but he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out either.

A little bell tied to the top of the door jingled as he made his way to the reception area.

“Welcome to the IDIC, how may I help you today?” a woman asked from behind the modern-style desk.

Jim raised both his eyebrows as he looked around the floor space that doubled as a waiting room-slash-reception area. “Uh, yeah. I’m here to see…” he looked down at his right forearm, his tan skin was marred by several scribbles in various colours of Sharpie, “Oliver Thredson.”

The woman behind the desk gave him a small, polite smile after, what Jim assumed to be, looking up his information.

He didn’t miss the blush the rose to her cheeks when he mentioned his quack’s name.

“Okay, Mr. Kirk, once you fill out these forms, you can head back. I’ll let Dr. Thredson know that you’ll be going his way soon.”

“Well thank you kindly, ma’am, but please, call me ‘Jim’,” he said, showing off his flashiest grin, adding a little wink before he sauntered over to a free chair to fill out what was sure to be forms he has already filled out before. The task took no time at all and the moment he was done he returned to the very pretty lady—‘Christine Chapel’ her name plate read—behind the desk and handed her his forms. Before he took his walk into what was sure to be Oblivion, he flashed her a wicked grin. Seeing the receptionist’s cheeks burn a soft cherry-red was enough of a self-esteem booster that he knew he would need to get through this next hour and a half.

 

His knuckles, sore from working in the lab all week, rapped on the wooden door in front of him. ‘Dr. O. Thredson’, the name plate read.

 _Ooookay, Kirk. It’s fine. You’ll get through this. It’s only an hour and a half_.

The tension wrapping around Kirk hardly let him process the sound of the shrink on the other side giving him permission to enter as one of his trembling hands grasped the brass door knob.

_Just pretend you’re watching a Disney movie. It’ll be over before you—_

His mind short circuited the moment he registered the soft voice, smooth and rich like caramel, caressing him ear drums. That voice sounded so familiar, like he had heard it every day of his life, yet he couldn’t quite place how he knew it. The attempt to welcome Jim flew right over his head. He had to, no,  _needed_ to see the face that went with that beautiful, addictive, nostalgic voice.

Kirk pushed the door open as calmly as his jittering nerves would let him. And the sight that greeted him was one he swore he could wake up to every morning.

A man, not much older than himself, was standing behind a sleek, wooden desk. He had a slender face, accented with a strong jawline and piercing dark-brown eyes. It was like looking into a steaming cup of black coffee, and Jim wouldn’t be surprised if (even behind those glasses) that gaze could burn him with the overflow of prestige and stoicism that the owner of said mesmerizing eyes carried.

The man, his shrink (he prayed), wore a fitted, light-gray business suit. The cloth hugged the man in the best of ways, laying just snug enough around broad shoulders and strong arms.

And that hair, just as dark a brown as those intoxicating eyes was the kind of combed back perfect that he wanted to run his fingers through.

Jesus, it had to be illegal what just the sight of this man was doing to Jim.

Yet… it wasn’t just that the man in front of him was (far too) attractive (for his own good)… This man, Oliver Thredson, looked exactly like the man that had been occupying his dreams for nearly half a year now.

Oliver Thredson looked like  _Spock_.

And of course Jim Kirk couldn’t react like a proper human being when this realization dawned on him.

“OH MY GOD!!” he screeched, nearly sprinting to the head of the desk. In a matter of seconds, Jim was leaning over the table to get a closer look at Oliver’s face.  _God_ , his mind exclaimed,  _it’s like looking into the face of my First Officer!_ A whispered, ‘gorgeous’ went unheard by the shrink in front of him. He figured it was for the best. It wouldn’t do to have their first meeting grow awkward quite so fast.

It surprised Jim (and apparently Oliver as well) when the doctor jumped back and pretty much rammed into the wall behind him. Jim paid the action no mind though. He figured he’d be jumpy too if someone like him rushed into his personal bubble.

For a good minute or so they stood together in silence. There was a faint ticking from the little clock on Oliver’s desk and that was about it. He could tell the doctor was giving him a once-over, but was just too excited, happy,  _ecstatic_ to care.

“I can’t believe you’re real!” he said, his voice quavering on the fence of awe and disbelief. “I mean, of course  _you’re_ real, Oliver, but… Wow. You look exactly like him.” He could feel a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Chances were high that he looked like a love-struck teenager right now, but every part of him was screaming ‘who gives a flying  _Enterprise_?!’

It was unfortunate when ~~Spock~~ Oliver remembered that there was a reason why they were there.

The tone the doctor used was definitely overwrought in comparison to the one used to usher Jim into the small office just moments earlier. “Mr. Kirk. If you would, please, sit down so we can begin your session.”

With heavy trepidation (and a resigned “yeah… yeah, I’m sorry”), Jim turned with his tail between his legs and plopped himself down on the loveseat on the other side of the room.

 

“So, Mr. Kirk—”

Oh no. “Call me Jim, Oliver.” This would not be the ‘O Captain, My Captain’ fiasco he has with Spock nearly every night.

“Mr. Kirk, there is protocol here at the Clinic that states I am to act professionally with my clients and thus—”

“ _Clients_ ,” Jim repeated. The feel of it rolling off his tongue just wasn’t right. “That sounds like we’re business partners or something.”

“Well, Mr. Kirk, we are, in a sense, business partners, are we not?” Oliver explained. Or reasoned, maybe. Either way Jim was starting to feel the unease that he held towards this whole ordeal return to him. “These weekly meetings are meant to help us coincide with each other and figure out ways to benefit us both.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow at the very… clinical explanation. He could feel himself start to close off to the man sitting just a few paces away from him. “Even if nothing is wrong with me?” he asked.

He watched as the doctor straightened his back, his already broad shoulders looking even larger as he leaned into the leather chair. He forced himself to look away. He wasn’t supposed to be ogling his quack… right now, anyway. “Do  _you_ think there’s something wrong with you, Mr. Kirk?”

Jim felt his neck pop from how fast he turned to look at Oliver. “What? No!” He could feel a shallow pool of ire growing in his belly. “This is all some stupid plot created by Frank to try and lock me up!”

The scribbling Oliver was doing on his little notepad-clipboard-thing was inadvertently adding fuel to the fire. “Could you please explain what you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. The story was stupid, really. And he had told it to enough people at the University that he was starting to grow tired of recounting the details to others. So when Jim’s account came out like it did, there’s only so much he can be blamed for. “Okay, so let me get this out of the way before this gets started,” he began (never really the best way to get one’s point across. It was crude, but effective), “One, I reeeeaaally don’t want to be here. I don’t even need to be here.  _I’m_ fine. Honestly, I feel bad for you, Oliver. I couldn’t sit there and listen to people complain for hour upon  _boring_ hour every single day.

Two, this is just Frank’s way of getting back at me for treating him how he deserves to be treated. In a nutshell,”  _like the dickbag he is_ , “not good. So, I mean, if you could just write me a clean bill ‘o health, that’d be mighty fine of you.

And three, if you can’t that’s fine too, but what’s the situation here?” If Jim weren’t so agitated at the moment he would have questioned why he hadn’t asked that in the first place. But Jim is Jim. And Jim can be long-winded when he wants to be. “How do I get out of here ASAP? I have a lot I need to be doing and having to go out of my way by an hour and forty-five minutes—on a good day—to be here every week is not something I need in my life right now. No offense or anything, Oliver. You’re nice to look at and you seem like a cool guy and all, but I just don’t need this crap.”

Now that Jim had finished his little tirade, he felt both better and worse. Better because  _damn_ it felt good to complain to someone who wasn’t Bones. And worse because his mind was starting to catch up to what his mouth had been spewing. While it was all true, he probably could have found a more eloquent way to say it.

It didn’t help that he could practically feel the storm he had just conjured from Doctor Thredson…

“…Mr. Kirk—”

“Jim,” he corrected.

“ _Mr. Kirk_ ,” Oliver repeated himself and if that authoritative tone wasn’t making his pants shrink he didn’t know what could. “Let us please put a few things in order before we continue this session. Firstly, I will not tolerate having both my profession and my other clients insulted by a man who clearly does not understand how neither psychiatry nor psychology are handled in a professional setting.

Lastly, while I do apologize if these sessions are of inconvenience to you, there is nothing I can do at the moment. The contract in your file states that you are required to attend weekly sessions here at the IDIC for a period of three months, minimum. If by then your file contains either enough evidence that you are truly prepared to continue with your everyday life without these weekly visits or if you get another person of legal age to sign off on the agreement, you can then terminate your affiliation with the IDIC.”

Kirk was starting to hate himself for a number of reasons. He hated that he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Hated that sometimes he just couldn’t filter what came out of his mouth. But most of all, he hated that his mind (and in turn his body) could not get a clue that now was not a good time to get a hard on. Crossing his legs, he leaned forward just enough so he could hide his erection without looking like an idiot. He even lowered his face for good measure. There was no doubt of the heat in his cheeks and it would be all too easy to see blown pupils in his baby blues.

“I  _am_ sorry, Mr. Kirk, but…”

 _Oh, Oliver you think I’m feeling guilty about what I said_.

“…coming here every Thursday…”

_Well, I guess I am…_

“…and meeting with either…”

_But fuck if I’m not more guilty about the raging boner I just got while listening to you tear me a new one._

“…me or another do—”

_Wait, what?!_

Jim swore he was going to get whiplash by the time they were finished here. “Woah, woah, wait!” He threw out his right hand in an attempt to halt Oliver. “You mean it won’t be just you? I’ll have to talk with other shrinks here?” Oh no. He couldn’t have that. It’s bad enough that he was here in the first place. But having to share his story (fake or otherwise) over and over again to a throng of new faces was starting to set something off in Jim’s mind. Too many people meant too many lies. Too many liabilities. All he needed was Bones. He needed Bones and he needed a drink but if he threw in the chip now Bones would be furious and… Oh god.

Oliver’s reply of “Negative” immediately calmed Jim’s fraying nerves. He could feel the stress leaving him in waves as he sagged into the soft cushions of the loveseat.

“You will not have to meet with another doctor if you do not wish it. I apologize in assuming you would want someone else.”

Jim held back the scoff deep in his throat. “Why would you think that?” he asked.

He just barely noticed the sigh Oliver let go of. “I had thought with how this first meeting has unraveled so far, you would not want to continue sessions with me, Mr. Kirk. I have been untoward, I admit, and I apologize for that.”

Unable to stop himself, he let out a bubbling laugh. “You were worried about what just happened?”

“’Worried’ would not be the proper vocabulary in this case, I believe.”

Oliver was  _totally_ pouting.

“Either way,” Jim said with one of his trademark flirtatious grins, “it takes a hell of a lot more than that to get rid of me, Oliver.” Who could blame him if he added in a little wink for his doctor?

“I shall endeavor to try harder, Mr. Kirk,” Oliver replied. And there was definitely a challenge laced into that and damn if it didn’t get Jim’s blood pumping. “Now let us officially begin our session, shall we?”

Not even Jim groaning could stop this ~~sexy~~ obstinate man.

“Do we really have to, Oliver? This should be like grade school, right? Where the first day is awesome ‘cause all you do is bullshit your way through and pretend to be doing things when in actuality you’re just there to fuck around and talk with people.”

The doctor gave him a smile that said, ‘I’m not falling for your shit’. “I believe that is what we are doing, Mr. Kirk.”

The looks, the brains,  _and_ a personality! This man had it all! If  _only_ he could get his name right.

“It’s Jiiiim.”

“We’ve been talking this entire session. Now, however, I would like to pick the topic.”

Jim wondered if Oliver could make him groan in any other ways besides frustration. “Fine! Ask away,  _doctor_.”

Thredson nodded, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm that was in Jim’s voice. “We can start small, if you’re amenable. Why do you think you’re here?”

“Because Frank is an asshat that thinks he can still run my life through Ma.”

“And Frank is…”

“Frank’s my stepdad. Ma is… Ma.”

“Is that how you typically address or introduce your mother?”

Jim took a second to think about it. “No,” he replied. Had he ever referred to her by anything other than her first name?

“What do you usually call her?”

“Winona.”

“What were the circumstances that le—”

He looked straight at Oliver, unamused, and stated, “This feels a hell of a lot like 20 Questions.” He was scratching at his solar plexus and trying to stop but god it was aching something awful.

Kirk could tell that Oliver’s chocolate eyes were analyzing him like there was no tomorrow, but really, what was there to analyze? Nothing was wrong with him. The only thing wrong about any of this was being forced into a situation so spectacularly unfair, and unfortunately there was nothing he could do about it.

“This is necessary if you would like to progress, Mr. Kirk. I believe ‘ASAP’ was your own turn of phrase.”

Jim let a long, weary sigh escape through his nostrils. “…Okay… Okay, let’s do this then. What was the question?” he murmured, looking over at his doctor and hating himself for the break in his voice.

“If you can recall, what were the circumstances that led to Frank pushing for your admittance into these sessions?”

Jim full-on snorted. “Well, hell, that’s an easy one! I was talking with Bones at the house in Riverside and that big-eared asswipe overheard.”

“What were you talking about with…” He wanted to laugh as Oliver tried to figure out what to make of his best friend’s nickname. “Bones?”

“You’re gonna think it’s weird,” Jim mumbled.

“I assure you, I will not,” Oliver promised.

It wasn’t much, but it seemed like the most Jim was going to get out of his shrink. “I was having some…  _really_ vivid dreams.”

Jim almost immediately regretted his decision to tell Oliver the truth. What was he thinking?! Now the guy was looking at him with pity. Wait, was that recognition? Relief? No, Oliver just didn’t know how to make his face work… right?

“And these dreams, would you mind describing to me what you mean by ‘vivid’?” Jim must have made some weird face of his own because Oliver quickly patched on a, “if you are in any way uncomfortable about talking about what you were dreaming of, please don’t feel pressured to—”

“Nah, no!” Jim hurriedly tried to reassure the doctor. “It’s not the bad kind of vivid. Not the crazy, there’s-blood-dripping-from-the-walls type of vivid. More like… it-was-like-I-was-there type of vivid.”

“Could you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kirk carried on, one his hands dismissing the man in the leather chair. “Keep your hipster glasses on, Oliver. I’ll tell you about them. Mostly ‘cause I want someone other than Bones to talk about them with!”

Jim could feel the euphoria welling up inside his mind whenever he thought about his dreams. They were familiar, those dreams, even though he knew they shouldn’t be. There was just something about them, about the things he would experience that just felt so  _natural_. “God, they’re just so… so  _cool_! Surreal, you know? Living out there… up in the stars…” (Not to mention the Vulcan First Officer he lived it with.) “Who could ask for more?”

“You dreamt about living amongst the stars?” Something in Oliver’s voice made him sound truly curious. Like the topic fascinated him.

“Yes! But not just living with them! Traveling through them! I’ve gone on journeys, missions. I’ve lived different lives, met so many different people, species… I’ve seen the universe…” Jim tapered off, his mind whirring with all of his recounted adventures.

“How long were you having those kinds of dreams?” Was that a strained tone her heard?

“Oh I still have them. Pretty regularly, actually,” he said, shrugging off the comment.

Oliver nodded, jotting something down on that pad of his. “And how much of these dreams do you typically remember?”

Jim’s blood ran cold at the question. A majority of the time, every dream, every  _mission_ ended on a high note, but there were moments that Jim wished he could ~~relive and~~ go back to change. And, well, that being said… “Everything. I remember every dream as if it were yesterday.”

“You sound as if that is unfortunate, Mr. Kirk.” He could denote the faint sound of concern in Oliver’s tone.

Jim gave a breathy, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, well, if you had a crew of over 500 whose lives depended on your every order… you’d start to wonder what the point was too…”

“Are these dreams causing you to feel some sort of doubt in your life?” He stayed quiet for a few minutes, mulling over some kind of answer to give to his doctor. The more he thought about his missions, all of them, he could feel the weight they brought down upon him. But through the hurt (and maybe/sometimes/even doubt) there was something else laying beneath it all.

“I… don’t think ‘doubt’ is the right word.”

“What word would you choose?”

“…responsibility, I think.” Jim looked at the backs of his hands which had the scars and cuts and bruises of an engineer, then to his Sharpie covered arms. “They’ve made me conscious of the decisions I make… and how they don’t just affect me.” When he looked up at Oliver, who was watching him with what seemed to be genuine interest being held at bay, he could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. “…maybe,” he added intelligently.

He wished the interest wasn’t held at bay. He wouldn’t mind the man of his literal dreams staring at him like he was the most interesting man in the world. In the universe even.

The tiny smile Oliver gave him, one that told Jim he was not alone in this, only made the heat in his belly that much warmer. If only he could just walk over to that beautiful man, lean down, and press his lips to Oliver’s.

“That, Mr. Kirk,” Oliver started, the smile he was giving Jim grew even brighter, “is how you make progress during a session.”

Jim couldn’t stop his heart from fluttering.

 

The rest of their time together went by smoothly. They talked about little things (or at least things Jim deemed not as big as their previous topics). Jim told Oliver about his life, that he was attending grad school in Iowa City for the Astronomy and Physics tracks. That it was mostly for Astronomy, but he had already taken most of the Physics courses needed to complete that track so why not? He explained that that’s the reason why coming to the Clinic was a royal pain in the ass, but at least he lived in Montezuma which was roughly half the time it took to get to the IDIC from UI.

Jim even talked about his dad. It wasn’t like it was that big of a deal, but Captain George Kirk was just not someone he brought up often. He beat talking about an alcoholic stepdad and a runaway mother, for one thing. For another, how could he not bring up is father if he was going to bring up astronomy? The man had worked for NASA! Fucking NASA a.k.a. Kirk’s dream job!

Of course, Oliver would keep him on track if Jim got too enamored with a tangent. Jim appreciated this man. Sure, it was awesome (and confusing to his mind on so many levels) that he looked exactly like Spock, his First Officer in his dreams, (if Spock ever got a makeover) but it was more than that. Doctor Oliver Thredson was a cool guy. Calm, understanding, and near-ready to forgive Jim of his many screw ups.

Jim was starting to feel the stirrings and thrums of his heart.

The feeling both elated and terrified him.

 

The sharp, loud ‘ding!’ of the timer on Oliver’s desk visibly gave both men a start. Kirk nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Well, Mr. Kirk, this concludes your first session. Do you have any questions?”

Jim stretched out the kinks in his back from sitting in one position for so long. “Mmmm, nope!” He purred. “I can’t think of anything—well wait! I’ll see you next week, right? I won’t come back and be paired up with another doctor?”

It surprised him how much relief washed over him when Oliver shook his head. “No, Mr. Kirk, if you will have me I will remain your psychiatrist.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Oliver! I mean—” he blurted but quickly shut himself up. God, how many times would he embarrass himself today? Trying to play it cool, he continued with, “As long as you start calling me ‘Jim’, alright?”

Oliver’s eyes crinkled at the corners and Jim could just tell that he was laughing without even a sound coming out of those tempting lips. “I will see you next week, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim laughed for the both of them. “Yeah, see you, Oliver.” With a quick wave goodbye, he ushered himself through the office door.

The moment it shut, he rushed through the halls and sprinted out of the Clinic to the Iowa Lutheran Hospital that was literally right next door. (Not without chirping a “Goodbye, Christine!” to the nice lady at the front.)

Bones would be taking his lunch break soon and if he didn’t tell him about this amazing experience  _now_ Jim was definitely going to explode.


	2. Vesht

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a past. (Otherwise known as Jim going on a lunch date with his bestie while Oliver plays the Pronoun Game with his.)
> 
> Trigger Warning: Panic Attacks

“Beat it, Jim, I’m working!” A familiar southern drawl threatened from one of the rooms down the hall.

“Aw, come on, Bones! You’re going on break in like five minutes, besides…” His sentence trailed off as his eyes trailed after one of the young nurses as she made her rounds. She noticed his attention and gave him a salacious wink which he gladly returned. “Everyone here loves me.”

More grumbling came from another room, this one closer, and Jim briefly wondered if Bones had some kind of teleporter stashed away that got him around so quickly. He giggled to himself, thinking about how much the Bones in his dreams outwardly loathed the transporters on the  _Enterprise_. A laugh went to the memories of the real Bones trying to understand and use current technology that was so easy even a caveman could do it. By the time the doctor actually came out to talk with him, Jim was in stitches at the idea of real Bones trying to use a transporter like the ones in his dreams.

“What’s so funny, huh?” The doctor asked as he strolled over to the main nursing station Jim had been waiting by.

“Oh nothing,” Jim snickered. “Now! Will you take me out to lunch already? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Leonard McCoy, always the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly makes you think I’m buying you lunch?”

“Because you won’t be getting any of the gory details on my first session otherwise.”

“…dammit, fine,” he groaned, relenting. The doctor walked behind the nurse’s station to mark himself off duty. Once that was finished he led them both down the hall to the side staircase. There were a couple of reasons for this. One, it was an easier escape to the outside world. Two, the only other quickest way out was through the ER.

Neither men liked going through an ER. And while both men had their own reasons for not wanting to take the faster route, they would argue it was to protect each other from the anxiety.

They made their way over to a little restaurant along the Des Moines River that served some of the best burgers in the state. Jim, a picky eater through behavior and biology, could always find something there that could both palate his tastes and keep him away from his EpiPen. Bones always defaulted to a salad when eating out, allowing himself to indulge for his dinners which were more often than not Jim’s breakfasts.

What could he say, the kid could cook some mean bacon.

The staff greeted them by name when they entered and they made for their usual table. One that had a good view of the River and the sky. Right about now the sun was beginning to set, the horizon being painted with vibrant pinks and soft blues.

Jim would usually spout off some nonsense about why the sky looked the way it did. And when McCoy would say something along the lines of, “Facts about the sky and what’s in the sky won’t help you treat people,” Jim would retort with, “It’s called science, Bones, you should try it,” laughing the entire time.

But not today.

Today, Leonard noted, Jim had a wistful look to those baby blues of his. More so than usual. He looked troubled and elated all at once.

“What’s eatin’ ya, Jim?” he asked, his tone soft but prompting the way it always was when Jim was on the fence about saying something. It was just what the kid needed to get the wheels turning.

Jim opened and closed his mouth a few times. A part of him wondered if the last hour and a half really happened. Maybe he dreamt it all? With the way he had been dreaming the past half a year, would it really be a surprise? But then, after all of the amazing missions, why would his brain go and throw him into the worst situation possible? It just made no sense.

“Okay, so this is gonna sound crazy…” he started. He knew exactly what kind of comment Bones wanted to make, ‘no more than usual, I’m sure’, but the southern gent in the guy held it back. “I… I met ‘Spock’ today.”

Bones’ eyes widened as he leaned forward in the booth. Jim could see the shock and skepticism (there was definitely some worry too) on his best friend’s face, but the intrigue in his voice betrayed it all. “You’re not sayin’ the ‘Spock’ that’s been plaguing your dreams every night for the past six months, are you?”

“…well, ‘plaguing’ seems a little harsh.”

“D—!” McCoy was cut off by one of the waitresses, bringing them their usual drink choices: water for him, a Sprite for Jim. It was bubbly but held none of the caffeine most other carbonated drinks had. And from an early age they learned that caffeine was a big no-no for Jim. After giving his thanks to the girl and telling her his order, he continued on his interrupted inquisition, “Dammit, Jim, you’re serious, aren’t you? You’re not going schizophrenic on me, are you?” Though it came out sounding pretty rude, Leonard was serious too. He worried about Jim far too much as it was, adding something like schizophrenia to the plate would only make his hair go gray faster.

“No,  _mom_ , not like that,” Jim reassured. “I’m dead serious, though! My doctor—”

“Oliver Thredson?”

“Mmhm! Looks exactly like him! Well, almost exactly. There’s no bowl cut or sculpted eyebrows, but his face—”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait! Lemme get this straight.” McCoy stuttered, making Jim pause in his ramblings, “So your  _psychiatrist_ looks ‘ _almost exactly_ ’ like this green-blooded hobgoblin you’ve been dreaming about since March?!”

Kirk allowed himself an exasperated chuckle. He had never told his Bones what the Bones in his dreams would call Spock. “Pretty much.” He smiled, thinking about how exhilarating it had been to see Oliver behind that wooden door.

Bones had forgone the straw to gulp down his water. He couldn’t really believe what Jim was saying, but the kid wouldn’t lie about something like this. Those dreams were important to Jim, something he only talked about in complete confidence. He wouldn’t go around thinking that some stranger looked like ‘Spock’ if it weren’t one-hundred percent true. “Okay… Okay, well, knowing you, you flipped out.” The bashful look he got in return validated his assumption. “How did the guy react? Did you tell him that you’ve been dreaming about his doppelganger?”

“No!” he shrieked. “He’d try to throw me in a loony bin too!” Jim stewed in his thoughts for a moment, reliving his first meeting with Oliver. What exactly was that look the good doctor had had in his eyes? It seemed familiar, like Jim had experienced the same thing before. “He seemed… surprised, to say the least.”

“Surprised?” parroted Bones, clearly unimpressed. “Is that it? What did you do?”

“Well, I—oh thank you, Gaila!” he chirruped when their waitress returned with their orders. She replied with an ‘any time, boys’ and a little wink before she turned away, her long, bright-red curls whooshing across her back as she sashayed off. Before he continued where he left off he stuffed a couple of fries in his mouth, hardly chewing before he swallowed. His stomach was immediately gratified that something was finally on it after a long day at University. “When I opened the door, I screamed ‘oh my god’ and ran up to his desk.”

Leonard raised an eyebrow, this certain one giving away that he was not-at-all shocked that Jim had acted that way. “And what did he do?”

“Um…” he mumbled through another mouthful of fries. “He sort of jumped back and kind of ran into the wall behind him?”

Jim knew the look Bones was giving him. It was the one he always gave him when he wanted to say, ‘goddammit, you infant! This is why we can’t have nice things!’ Either that or when he wanted to slap him upside the head, but never did.

“Well,” he said instead, “that certainly sounds like he was surprised.”

Conversation dwindled after a hum of agreement from Kirk. The time was rearing close to the end of McCoy’s break, so they ate in a companionable silence. Of course, what would a meal between two best friends be if a rogue fry or crouton didn’t go flying towards the faces of said best friends?

About 10 minutes before Bones had to return to the hospital, Jim flagged Gaila over so he could pay the bill (much to the gruff doctor’s displeasure). (“I can pay for a salad, Jim!” “Yeah, but why do it when the University will pay for it instead?”) They left shortly after that and walked the length of the River back up to ILH.

When they made it to the side door, Bones stopped Jim, placing both his hands on Jim’s broad shoulders. He looked at his best friend with eyes that showed just as much inspection as they did concern. “Are you okay, Jim? I know you seemed pretty hyped up about your psychiatrist back at The Belt, but you’re not bottling anything up from me, are ya?”

Jim always expects talks like these from Bones, and yet every time they made his stomach do somersaults. He hated unloading things onto McCoy. It made him feel guilty, raw… like he shouldn’t say anything, because that’d just easier for all parties involved. “Yeah, I’m fine, Bones,” he said honestly, giving the doctor a small smile. “We didn’t talk about anything major. No triggers.”

Leonard nodded a few times, refusing to break eye contact with Jim. The mother hen, seemingly mollified for now, gave a soft, ‘good’ before pulling Jim forward. Their foreheads rested against each other, and they held the gesture for what outsiders would have thought to be far too long. Pulling away, he ruffled Jim’s hair just enough to make it stick up every which way.

“Drive safe, you hear?”

“Will do.”

“Wear your helmet.”

“Always.”

“And remember: no more than 5 miles over—”

“I got it, mom!”

“…Love you, Jim.”

“Love you too, Bones.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So is all we’re gonna do is watch a movie we’ve seen at least twenty times? Because I’m pretty sure you wanted to talk about something,” a female’s sceptic voice called out over the movie they were watching.

Oliver made no attempt to acknowledge her for quite some time. He was trying his best to keep his focus on the film in order to distract himself. His last appointment, while entertaining, had ignited the unwanted spark of a panic attack that Oliver was trying so very hard to stave off.

The pixels moving on the screen were fading in and out of focus.

He could feel his heart beating its way out of his chest.

The ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop.

He was coming.

Hewascominghewascominghewas—

“Oliver? Breathe honey, you need to breathe.” Nyota. It’s okay, it’s Nyota, his brain reminded him. She called out to him in a stern, yet gentle voice, just the thing Oliver needed to start clawing his way back to reality.

The doctor, no, at home he was just Oliver, little Oliver, pretty Oliver, good boy Oliver…

“Oliver!” Nyota shouted, and it was enough to jolt Oliver back to the present. His dark eyes darted around the apartment, searching for any signs of him.

There were none.

Of course there wasn’t. There couldn’t be. But the ringing in his ears told him otherwise. Told Oliver he was close. That he was searching for him.

“Honey, where are you right now?” Nyota asked, the little quiver in her voice gave away her calm façade.

Oliver gulped for air each one bringing him closer to tears. “I-I-I’m… uh,” his eyes moved from side to side, “I’m in-in my apartment…”

“That’s good, Oliver,” Nyota reassured. “What do you see?”

“…I-I see… mmm” He screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands to choke out a sob. His palms were covered in red crescents from short nails digging into them. “I see him,” he whimpered, his voice trembling.

“No you don’t, Oliver. He’s not there.”

“He is, he is...”

“Oliver, look at me!” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but she was desperate. It had been a long time since he had had a panic attack this bad. And when Oliver listened, a wave of relief settled over her. “Who do you see right now?”

“Y-You…”

“Good. And who am I?”

“Nyota.”

“Honey, you’re doing great. You’re okay. You said we’re in your apartment, right?”

He nodded his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the strong woman’s in front of him for fear of losing himself again.

“Alright, what’s here? What’s to your right?”

“A… A wall. A lamp…” Oliver took longer breaths now, his mind finally clearing from the fog of his attack.

“And to your left?”

“The dining table…”

“Good, Oliver, you’re doing great. How’s your breathing?”

He took in a long, breath, hiccupping a few times as he did. “My… My breathing is much better, as am I.”

“Glad to hear it, love.” The smile on Nyota’s face was genuine relief, flooding with so much reassurance for Oliver that he felt like he could double over with gratitude. It had been a very long time since he had had a panic attack of this magnitude. It seemed to shock them both. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his best friend’s small frame, ashamed but unable to stop the tears that escaped from their ducts.

“Thank you, Nyota.”

“Of course, hun. You’ve done the same for me.” Returning the hug, she rubbed her hands over his broad back soothingly.

They remained as they were for a long time. The movie, long forgotten, had finished rolling and was sitting idling on its main menu. Soft piano music drifted out from the speakers, calming both parties even further.

After a while, Oliver chose to sit back, turning in his spot on the couch in order to properly face Nyota.

“I would like to speak of my day now, and I apologize for unintentionally ignoring your first attempt to breech the subject, I—”

“Oliver, it’s okay.” She carded a hand through his hair to reassure him. “You were already in the beginning of an attack, it wasn’t your fault.”

He nodded, a part of him still unsatisfied that he had ignored his best friend, intentionally or not. “… Very well.” Seeing the look in her beautiful and sharp brown eyes, he knew he was in for a talk fairly soon, but for now she nodded at him to continue. “My day had been playing out as it usually does. 5 am, wake up. Do my morning routine. Leave at 8 am to arrive at the Clinic by 9 am. I saw my usual clients for the day, had lunch at 12:45 pm, as I always do. Had another client at 1:30 pm which then lead to a half hour of free reign before my final and new client at 3:30 pm.” He thought back for a moment, cringing at the way his and ~~Jim’s~~ Mr. Kirk’s first meeting had gone. “Then I left at 5 pm, as I usually do.”

Nyota, bless her heart, listened without interruption. It wasn’t until he mentioned his new client that a spark of interest glittered in his eyes. This was pretty unusual for Oliver. He spoke with his typical clinical gusto when starting but the moment a thought of his new client flashed through his mind, she saw an intrigue and excitement that brightened his eyes in a way that hadn’t happened in a very long time. She gave a tiny smile, successfully containing her joy in seeing Oliver’s eyes this bright. “Do you think it has something to do with this new guy of yours?”

Oliver looked at her with a sidelong glance. “Mr. Kirk, is not a new ‘guy’. He is my client.” He sounded prim, but the moment he finished his explanation, he wanted to slap himself.  _I slipped._

“Kirk? That’s an interesting name,” she beamed, her smile so wide there were crinkles around the edges of her eyes.  _Oh God, I hope it’s not the Kirk I’m thinking of…_ “Anyways,” hurriedly trying to stay on topic, “do you think he had something to do with what just happened?”

“Possibly,” Oliver mused. His brows furrowed in concentration while his gaze was fixated on a point somewhere on his lap. He knew Nyota was giving him the ‘go on’ look, so he expounded. “I called for him to come in and when he did, he bounded over to my desk, screaming ‘oh my god’ then proceeded to stare at me while in my personal space.”

Nyota nodded, understanding in more ways than one.  _Yep. It’s that Kirk._ “That could explain your panic attack then, right? He triggered it?”

“He did not mean to trigger it,” Oliver immediately defended.

“I know, hun. I didn’t mean it like that.” She smiled, patting his right knee with perfectly manicured fingers. This was really starting to get interesting. Oliver almost never defended anybody unless they were in his close friend group, which only consisted of four people (including himself). And this was a staunch, James-meant-no-harm-what-so-ever defense.  _Maybe Oliver’s got a thing for him_ , she wondered.

“I apologize.”

“No need. But you look like you still have something on your mind. Something that isn’t Kirk,” she lilted, looking at Oliver mischievously.

The man looked up from whatever had been so interesting on his lap with veiled shock. “What are you insinuating, Nyota?”

She honestly couldn’t help the bubble of laughter escaping her lips. “Nothing, Oliver,” she snickered, leaning her back against the arm of the loveseat so she could prop her feet up in her best friend’s lap. “Now what is it? Something’s bugging you.”

“I have just been pondering, is all.”

“Oh?” she chirped. She was playing with a strand of her long, silky hair which she had taken down from an elaborate bun sometime during the movie. “What about?” Before Oliver could open his mouth she thought out loud, “Is it about those dreams you’ve been having?” she asked, one of her feet softly prodding Oliver’s left knee.

His body going rigid was all the answer she needed.

“You said that last night you were on a planet full of people who could create elaborate illusions, right?”

“Talos IV, correct. And the Talosians were a species of telepaths that spoke with their minds and could create mirages that were tailored to whatever it was you desired.”

“A dream within a dream… Sounds a lot like Inception,” Nyota joked, searching Oliver’s stoic features for any signs of mirth. The corners of his lips quirked up for a moment. It wasn’t much, by any means, but she would happily take it. “A few aliens wouldn’t get you this wound up,” she stated after a short pause of silence.

“It’s just very odd.”

“The dreams?”

“Yes, but more adequately put: their contents. It isn’t logical for me to be having dreams set in space. I do not deviate from my daily routine unless I am physically, mentally, or emotionally unable to perform certain tasks. As of late, there has been nothing out of the ordinary or different in general that could have influenced such specific, let alone vivid dreams. This is even odder, considering I can recall every detail that transpired. Not to mention, I can read something in a PADD in its entirety.”

Nyota listened patiently, trying her best to dissect what Oliver was saying much like the latter would do with his clients. “So why is it ‘odd’ to be able to read something “in its entirety”?” Actual air quotes at the ready from Nyota’s slender fingers. “It just sounds like you have good memory to me.”

“When we dream,” Oliver explained, “the right side of our brain is essentially shut down to let the left hemisphere take control. The right side of our brain is what controls both our motor functions and creativity. That being said, you are not able to read something in its entirety because it would take the right side to become active again which would then lead to waking up. Now, that being said, the left side is able to recognize numbers, letters, symbols and the like, but the moment you try to read a book past the first few pages, even in lucid dreaming, the words turn to nonsense or just simply disappear because the left side cannot process it.”

Nyota loved watching Oliver talk about topics in both his field of career and compassion. His eyes lit up with something close to awe. He had told her many years ago (decades, even) that the mind and its structure was something that he wanted to know better than the back of his hand. ‘I want to know why people do the things they do’, a fifteen-year-old Oliver had said.

“So in a nutshell, you’re saying what you did was impossible?”

“Yes.”

She hummed for a tick, trying to decipher any more of what Oliver had said about his dreams. “Well, what does space mean in a dream? Could that have any connotation?”

“I do not actually know what the meaning of space is in a dream setting,” the man admitted, deftly pulling out his phone so he could look up different websites and see what they had to tell him.

Nyota gladly did the same. What could she say? Google hunts are a nice break from her thesis. After a solid fifteen minutes of quiet searching, she sang, “hey, how about this one,” moving her position so she was sitting just shy of Oliver’s lap.

Oliver scanned the screen’s contents. [Dream Bible](http://www.dreambible.com/search.php?q=Outer+Space) was the name of the website. Childish in style and name but fairly thorough with its data. He commended Nyota with a nod and sound of interest while his eyes ricocheted in his head to read the small text. Oliver had ended up on a University website reading a professor’s thesis paper that probably didn’t even have the information he needed.

“The results seem apt. I can say for sure that this whole ordeal has been an ‘unusual experience’. They could have possibly been a warning, as it says, for what was to occur today. Dreams such as that are not uncommon. Premonition dreams are typically the subconscious’ way of telling you that there is something you should be preparing for. It’s still odd to think that a month of these dreams were leading up to one meeting…” There was no need to inform Nyota that his new client was having dreams eerily similar to his own. Not yet, in any case.

“You never know, maybe this is fate’s way of telling you something?”

“What would ‘fate’ want to tell me, Nyota?” Oliver asked, raising an already arched eyebrow.

“Who knows?” she all but purred. “How did your dream last night end?”

The more thought about this entire ordeal the more Oliver wished for it to end. These dreams had been occupying a majority of his thoughts as of late, and he was positive it was beginning to hinder his ability to perform menial tasks without ‘spacing out’, as Nyota would so aptly call it. “The Captain and his crew had departed from Talos IV. Upon doing so the Captain pulled me aside and informed me that I would become First Officer as well as Chief Science Officer to a new Captain ‘very soon’.” His brow furrowed as he recollected the talk he had had with Captain Pike. While he had been disappointed in hearing the news of the Captain’s choice to resign (something he had thought _illogical_ to be feeling at the time), there had also been a sort of thrumming throughout his body. Like there was a steady current of electricity that could only be quelled when he met his new Captain.

Come to think of it, all morning he could feel the current running just under the surface of his skin. And while their meeting had given him a shock (to say the least) once they started talking, the feeling of excitement and uncertainty had subsided. Like it had been satiated by just being in the very presence of James T. Kirk.

“I still say fate,” Nyota giggled, leaning heavily against Oliver. Her whole demeanor starting to scream ‘I’m falling asleep in T-minus 10 seconds’.

A smile made its home in the corners of Oliver’s lips. He remembered how graduate school was able to bring on exhaustion just as easily as it could insomnia. “Perhaps,” he agreed, scooping Nyota up in his arms like she weighed nothing. “You do not have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Mmmmmhmmmm,” she mumbled as she was placed on the firm but surprisingly comfy mattress in Oliver’s quarters. She immediately cocooned herself in the mountains of blankets strewn across the King-sized bed.

“Good night, Nyota,” Oliver whispered before he made his way to the living room with feet lighter than air.

He heard a soft “g’niiight” called back to him as he sat down on the loveseat again.

Oliver had a lot to ponder on over the week interlude between now and his next session with ~~Jim~~ Mr. Kirk. He was curious, if not a bit suspicious. His mind had done the impossible, he had felt something akin to longing until his encounter with his client… and to top it off, something in Oliver was almost willing to concede to the idea that his best friend had referred to as ‘fate’.

The whole thing was odd, and maybe, Oliver decided, all he needed was a few hours spent in front of his TV to turn his mind off for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again :)  
> Show me some love and tell me how I'm doin'! <3 I live to know what you guys think!
> 
> I'm going to try my best to post new chapters every other week. *cough* We'll see how that goes! *cough* If it doesn't happen feel free to harass me!  
> Until then! Stay beautiful! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This is my first ever 'Spirk' fanfic, so I'm a little (okay, very) worried! It will be a while before I come back to IC, but rest assured I will return! (I promised other lovelies that I would write/update for other stories, and you never break a promise!) Again, thank you so much! Until next time, stay beautiful!


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